


His Guide

by Deannie



Series: Deprivation [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-06-01
Updated: 1997-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair comes home--in more ways than one. But Jim finds that his new relationship with his Guide might not be as simple as he thought it would be. Fourth story in the Deprivation series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Guide

DISCLAIMER: Okay, y'all know I don't own them, right? That'd be UPN and Pet Fly. But I'll tell you a secret--Jim and Blair *want* to belong to us! 

RATING: NC-17 (yes, that's right, it's finally time to consummate this!) 

NOTE: This is a follow-up to _Regained_, which was a follow-up to _The Village_, which was a follow-up to _Deprived_. This series is called DEPRIVATION, and can be archived as such. 

THANKS: To Free, for her unflagging betareading, and all you senners out there who have waited patiently for Jim and Blair to hop into bed together. This is the first m/m sex I've ever written, so please let me know what you think. Thanks. NOTE: Last minute thanks to BAS for her help on this part. REMEMBER: This is my first love scene. Be kind and let me know what I screwed up, okay? Thanks. Deprivation IV: 

## His Guide

by Dean Warner  


Jim looked around his Guide's room in frustration. How was he ever going to clean this place up? Too clean, and Blair would bitch and moan about his "neat streak"... but the place had been turned upside down when they'd been taken, and half of Blair's precious artifacts were in pieces on the floor. 

Just clean it, he decided finally. Let him bitch. As close as you came to losing him, you should be glad he's still around to do that much. 

Just the thought made his knees weak, and he sank onto the narrow bed as the shock of his partner's injury hit him again. He could have died. He *did* die--at least technically. He'd flat-lined for three minutes on the way to the hospital. Jim had thought it eerily fitting when he learned that he and Blair had died at almost exactly the same moment. 

His eyes drifted as he decompressed, and came to rest on a shattered frame, with a distorted picture clinging to it. His eyes misted slightly. Naomi. He had tried to track her down when he got home yesterday, but hadn't had any luck. He'd left that particular search in Simon's capable hands while he set about trying to restore order to the loft. In his weakened condition, it was taking longer than it should have. 

He picked up the picture now, holding it in delicate hands. They'd never really looked alike to him before, but her eyes in the picture were the same wildly optimistic ones that his partner flashed so often. Sandburg didn't have many real possessions, but somehow, Jim just knew that this picture meant the world to him. Hell, all the artifacts that the anthropologist had collected were a part of him. 

And now, like his research--and nearly his life--they were ruined. 

He sighed, collecting the shards of frame, and laid the precious fragments on his partner's bed, before walking slowly out into the kitchen and picking up the phone.  
  


* * *

Four days later 

Blair Sandburg could name more than three hundred different gods, and he had a feeling he'd pissed off each and every one of them. Jim hadn't been by yet today, and everyone else who'd been dropping in to visit was, no doubt, at work. He had a deck of cards, but sitting forward to play solitaire wore out his healing stomach muscles, so all he could do was sit back and watch daytime TV. 

The Maury Povich Show was definitely someone's idea of Hell. 

Where was Jim, anyway? He'd arranged to take a little leave of absence while Blair recovered--God knew the guy could afford it. Who knew he had that nice little nestegg stashed away? Blair shrugged to himself. It definitely explained why nothing ever stayed broken in the loft for long. Jim could always afford to pay someone to fix it. 

He wondered who was going to fix all his stuff, though. Joel had said that the loft was trashed when Formby took both Sentinel and Guide, and he'd gone on at length about what a shambles both Blair and Jim's rooms had become. 

Most of Blair's possessions had been accumulated on various research projects. It wasn't the kind of stuff he could just run down to the local Target and replace. Oh well, he sighed to himself. Things were things. At least he'd never had to face that fear of trying to replace his Sentinel. 

Jim. He'd been on his mind constantly as he sat here, bored out of his mind and doped up on painkillers. He still remembered the thrill that had run through him when he realized that *he* was Jim's true Guide. His. Completely. He looked at the clock anxiously, wondering again where the man was...  
  


* * *

Jim looked at the clock and grumbled to himself. Twelfth store, and he still hadn't found it. He'd checked in with Simon an hour ago, and learned that he still hadn't managed to track down Naomi. She was probably in Big Sur or something--one of her usual out-of-the-way, no-phone-for-miles getaways. 

At least Molly seemed to be having some luck, he thought, remembering the box she had dropped by the apartment yesterday. He hoped Blair would be out of it for a few days, at least. Maybe he'd be able to pull this off after all. 

A memory pushed at him. Naomi had said she was going to visit, right? Hadn't Blair said that to him sometime lately? He couldn't remember when it might have been, but he distinctly remembered Blair saying that she wanted to come for a visit. 

He'd worry about that later. Right now, he had to keep searching...  
  


* * *

"So if you'll have Detective Ellison see me when he gets here," the doctor was saying, "I'll talk to him about some ways he can help you out when you go home tomorrow." 

He can just hold me for a week solid, Blair said to himself. That'll be about right. "I'll do that, Doctor. Thanks." 

She walked out, swishing her hips as she did. She was cute--very cute--but Blair found himself intensely disinterested. There was only one narrow butt he wanted to see right now, and that one was on the order of an hour late. 

He sat up gingerly, pulling out the cards Ryf had left him, and started dealing out a hand of solitaire...  
  


* * *

Jim ran for the elevator, calling out for the young woman standing within. "Hold the door, please!" 

"No problem," she beamed transparently. "Running late, or just in a hurry?" 

He smiled. "A little of both, I'm afraid." 

She tried to engage him in conversation, but he found himself glad that Blair was only four floors up. It gave him less time to have to rebuff her. He listened for Blair's heartbeat as he stepped off the car, stepping up his pace as he heard the heartbeat do the same. He reached Blair's door just as the nurse did. 

"Sandburg?" he called anxiously, walking in to find his partner doubled over in pain, his breath coming in tight little gasps. "What happened?" 

Blair took a long moment to answer, as the nurse slid a clear-liquid hypodermic into his IV line. "Just... Just a--spasm." 

It looked like a hell of a lot more than that to Jim, and he took Blair's hand in his, rubbing lightly at the healing scars there. "Just breathe Buddy," he whispered, nodding to the nurse as the spasm eased off. "Relax." 

"He'll be subject to a few more of those for a week or so, Detective," the nurse told him quietly. "His doctor wanted to talk to you when you came in. I'll page her." 

"Thanks," Jim returned, listening to his partner's heartbeat even out. He waited for the sweet young thing in white to leave before he ran a hand through Blair's sweaty hair. "You doing a little better?" 

"Yeah," Blair gasped. "Just--overdid it a little, I think." 

Jim didn't want to know how sitting up could possibly be considered overdoing it. "Well just relax, okay? I thought you were having a heart attack when I came down the hall." 

"Sorry," His companion apologized tightly. 

Jim didn't remove his hand from Blair's hair as he snagged a chair and sat beside him, waiting for the doctor. They didn't speak with words--but they didn't have to. Their eyes spoke volumes. 

"Detective Ellison?" 

Jim stood, finally extricating his fingers from his partner's locks. "Dr. Litton," he greeted her warmly. "How's he doing?" 

"Surprisingly well, actually," she replied easily, pegging Blair with a hard eye that told both men that she had heard about this newest episode. "If he can just manage to take it easy for a few weeks, he'll be fine." 

"That spasm he had. The nurse said he'd have more of those?" 

"Probably," Litton conceded. "He can't stay in bed indefinitely, and any extensive movement of his torso is going to hurt for a while." She smiled, handing Jim a xerox of post-operative dos and don'ts. "If you can strap him to his bed," she joked lightly. "That might help him heal a little faster." 

"Sure," Jim returned, a cruel smile thrown toward his Guide. "I think that can be arranged." 

Blair rolled his eyes, his voice not finding the volume he might have wished. "Great, thanks, Doc." 

She smiled lightly as she lead Jim out of the room. "No problem, Mr. Sandburg." 

Out in the hall, Litton looked Jim up and down critically. He'd been here, plaguing the nurses hopelessly, since he himself had been discharged five days ago, and she knew there was something more going on here than mere roommates or partners. Her voice was stern as she shook a finger at him. 

"Now, Detective Ellison, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Mr. Sandburg is going to need his rest--*real* rest. In bed. By himself." 

Jim froze, puzzled for a moment. God, he was even more transparent than he felt, apparently. He was definitely going to have to think about this before he went back to work next week. If a doctor who didn't even know him could figure it out, what about Simon? Or Joel? 

He nodded finally. "I understand, Doctor," he assured her, meeting her reproving gaze. "He'll get all the rest he needs." 

She softened slightly at the concern in his voice. "On the other hand, he's also going to need you to help him out a lot. The pain meds are time-release, but a lot of patients have them wear off before they can take another dose. I'm afraid he's likely to be in quite a bit of pain for the next week or so." 

Jim clenched his jaw nervously. "Are you sure he's okay to come home tomorrow?" 

At that, her smile beamed. "He'll be happier there with you than here alone, I think."  
  


* * *

"Okay, Chief," Jim stated the next morning, stepping away from his partner as Blair stood shakily to pull on his sweat pants. "You're out of here." 

"About time," the younger man groused. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate hospitals, man?" 

Jim smiled fondly. "All the time, Buddy." He held on to Blair's shoulders briefly. "Come on, Blair," he whispered tenderly. "Let's go home." 

They had nearly reached the loft when Blair remembered something he'd meant to ask his partner. "Hey Jim? Brown said you were going to have poker night here tonight?" 

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I canceled it. I figured you could use the rest." 

"No way, Man," Blair said, a little of his old fire coming back. "I could use the extra income, is what I could use." 

As he pulled to a stop in the parking garage, Jim turned concerned eyes on him. "Are you sure? I mean, you *are* just getting home." 

"Come on, Jim," Blair pouted expertly. "I'd really like the distraction." 

Jim laughed. He never could resist that pout. He leaned over and kissed the younger man carefully. "Okay, Chief. I'll call Simon and tell him the party's back on."  
  


* * *

Jim kept a close eye on his partner throughout the night, but Blair seemed to be doing surprisingly well. He even laughed once--if briefly--when Simon griped about not being able to smoke in the loft. "You don't want to be responsible for another stay in the hospital for me, do you, Captain?" 

"*I*'m going to be responsible for one if you win much more of my money, Sandburg," Ryf broke in, mock-angrily. He smiled to take the sting from his words, but the smile suddenly faded as all four visitors noticed Blair begin to fight for breath. Jim had heard it start seconds before, and stood tensely at his partner's side. 

"You okay, Chief?" 

"Yeah," Blair gasped, not looking it. His face got suddenly paler, and he tried to stand up shakily. "On second thought, maybe I should sit a couple of hands out, huh?" 

Jim led him carefully to the couch, checking the clock before dashing to the kitchen for painkillers and a glass of water. He held the glass gingerly as Blair swallowed the pills, wincing at the pain. Jim was relieved that Blair hadn't noticed just exactly *which* pills he was taking. "You sure you don't want to lie down in your bed?" he asked quietly. 

"No," Blair replied, waving him off. "At least out here, I can *feel* like I'm in the party." 

"Yeah, but maybe the rest of us can win a couple of hands," Brown joked lightly. 

"Don't worry, Brown," Blair quipped through gritting teeth. "I'll be back over there to even up the score." 

Jim smiled, glad to see that the pain hadn't hurt the anthropologist's sense of humor. "No, the way to even up the score is to stay right where you are, Chief." 

Twenty minutes later--more time than Jim had expected--the Sentinel relaxed as he heard Blair's breathing drop into the rhythm of sleep. He sighed. "Man. You know, I knew it was too early for him to be entertaining company." 

Simon looked over at the kid, whose head had fallen onto the back of the couch as he began snoring ever-so-lightly. "He okay?" he asked worriedly. 

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, he's fine. I just gave him the pills they told him to take at night. He should be out for six or seven hours now." 

Joel rifled through his own meager winnings with a smile. "He's going to kill you when he hears you made him sleep through the rest of the game." 

"Well, he can do anything he likes," Jim groused good-naturedly. "As soon as he can stand without leaning against something--namely *me*."  
  


* * *

Jim tossed the last of the beer bottles into the recycle bin, and looked at the clock. Blair should be out for another three hours--maybe more, if Jim was lucky--but he wasn't going to wake in any sort of good mood if he stayed on that couch all night. 

Jim picked him up carefully, noticing how much weight the younger man had lost in the last month, as he headed for the anthropologist's room. He stopped at the door, focusing in on the broken pane of glass. The forensics team that Simon had called in over the weekend had sampled the blood and wiped much of it off, but Jim could still see the traces of it. 

Traces of anger. Traces of misunderstanding. He wondered if Blair understood now. Did he see that *he* was Jim's Guide? The panther *and* Mak'laya had told Jim as much, years ago. She had been for him in the jungle, but there was another, true Guide waiting for him, after the darkness of Peru had passed, after he'd returned to the life he was meant to have... 

That true Guide lay in his arms, and he knew that, God and Blair willing, his Guide would never sleep in that small cramped room again. He sighed lightly as Blair muttered in his sleep, and carried his Guide to his own room.  
  


* * *

Blair's stomach was on fire. He tried to breathe around it, tried to ignore it, but he just ended up loosing a groan he'd never thought to hear from himself. 

He couldn't hear the Sentinel's approach through the rushing of his own blood, but he felt each step the older man made as he walked up the stairs, each footfall a searing pain as he moved to sit on the bed beside him. 

"Chief?" Jim looked at the clock, and cursed. He'd fallen asleep. He had meant to stay awake, knowing that Blair probably wouldn't sleep the night through. But channel-surfing had turned to a very un-Sentinel zoning, and he'd fallen asleep somewhere being the Amazing Peeler-Shredder and the Ab-Roller Plus. 

"Chief, you okay?" Right, Ellison. Stupid question. 

"'Salright, Jim," Blair hissed, his hands reaching out blindly to latch on to Jim's shirt. "'Sokay." 

No, Jim thought. It's not all right. He gathered his Guide in his arms, and ran a soothing hand through his hair, until he felt the tension relax in his companion. 

Blair breathed in shallowly, not wanting to set off another wave of spasms in his diaphram. He chuckled cautiously. "Well *this* is an adventure," he whispered. 

Jim's rumbling snort bounced thrillingly through Blair's body, prompting his mind to remind it of just how inappropriate those thoughts were, given his condition. Still, he grabbed Jim's shirt tighter when the older man made to leave. 

"That seems to help, Jim," he whispered exhaustedly. "Why don't you just stay here?" 

Jim laughed again, and slid expertly from Blair's grasp. "Because I'd like to be able to move my neck, come morning," he joked, kissing Blair's scalp tenderly. "I'm just going to get another of those white pills you like so much, and I'll be right back." 

Blair watched him descend the stairs. God, he hated the pills--course, he hated pain a whole lot more, and this stomach wound hurt ten times worse than his leg had, and he'd felt the need to take the pills for more than a week with that. He smiled as Jim all but raced up the stairs, the glass of water in his hand never spilling a drop. 

His medicine duly taken, Blair followed Jim's movements with his eyes, as the older man slipped out of his dockers and button-down shirt and then slipped into bed with him. God, Blair mused, as Jim's arms came around him carefully, cradling him in a warmth he'd never known was possible, how did I miss this? How did I not see that this is *so* right? 

"I must have been blind," he whispered, bending his head to kiss Jim's arm. 

The Sentinel didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant, as sensitive ears caught the sound of Blair's sleep.  
  


* * *

The days went on, and even when Blair's stomach had ceased its cramping and the strongest pain pills had been discarded, Jim still held the younger man in his arms at night. They both slept well that way. 

Which was as it should be, Jim thought happily, waking early to watch his partner sleep. He'd have to get his fill this morning. He was going back to work today, and Blair still had a week of sitting around like a lump before he could hope to go out. 

Still, he thought, running a soft finger down Blair's back, he was a very nice lump. 

"Stop that," Blair demanded lazily. "Don't start something *I* can't finish." 

A kiss on the cheek was the only apology the younger man got, as Jim rolled out of bed. "Do you want some breakfast?" he asked quietly, gathering a set of clothes from the closet. 

Blair turned carefully onto his back with a groan. "Jim, let's get something straight, okay? Watered-down oatmeal is *not* breakfast." 

His partner smiled. "Okay, then. Do you want some *not* breakfast?" 

That brought a pained grimace. "No."  
  


* * *

Jim looked up from his breakfast preparations to see Blair making his way slowly down the stairs from the bedroom. His right hand gripped the banister fiercely, and the "old man" cane the hospital had given him was held loosely in his left. 

This was a good sign. Blair hadn't shown much interest in coming downstairs on his own in the last week. Jim had been grabbing journals for him, helping him downstairs for the occasional stint of channel-surfing... But the anthropologist had been distressingly lethargic, and Jim had begun to wonder if this recuperation would take more time than the doctors seemed to think. 

"There any tea?" Blair asked quietly, making his way across the room, leaning on his walking stick in pain. 

Jim handed him a mug and helped him into a seat at the table. "I was going to bring it up to you." 

Blair waved him off, looking more himself than he had in a month. "It's about time I got the hell out of that bed and started trying to make some sense of what's left of my stuff." 

He didn't notice the sly grin Jim produced as the detective turned back to his own breakfast. When he spoke, the Sentinel's voice was clear and normal. "I just put everything in boxes--they pretty much threw your notes around wherever they damn well pleased." He sighed. "One hell of a mess." 

Blair grinned at him. "Yeah, and I know how much you hate messes, so I'd better clean it up while you're at work, huh?" 

Jim shoveled down the last of his eggs and stood beside his partner. "Just take it easy, okay, Chief?" He gave the younger man a soft kiss on the neck. "I don't want to come home to find that you wore yourself out again." 

Blair turned his head, inviting another kiss. Jim obliged him, and again, came away more breathless than his Guide. The anthropologist's soft tone was enough to make Jim want to take *another* day off. "I could wear myself out right here, you know?" 

"But then *I*'d be late for work," Jim teased, striding over to grab his jacket off of its hook. He looked back at his partner with concerned eyes. "You sure you're going to be okay?" 

"Just go to work, Jim," Blair returned, a reassuring grin on his face. "I'll have the place cleaned up by the time you come home."  
  


* * *

Jim was in high spirits by the time he reached the station. Blair was finally on the mend, and as far as he knew, Simon had no serious fires for him to put out. He settled himself into his chair, and leaned toward his in-basket, ready to work. 

"Hey Ellison?" Brown walked up, a bright smile on his face. "How's Hair Boy?" 

Jim smiled at the nickname and shrugged. "He's doing okay, Brown--Course, *I*'m still the one doing all the housework." 

Brown smirked. "A woman's job is never done, huh?" he asked, moving easily on to his own work. 

"A woman's job is..." What's *that* supposed to mean? Jim asked himself tensely. Does Brown know that...? 

"Ellison." 

Jim's head came up as he heard Simon's call. 

"In my office." 

Once he was seated, Jim saw the small smile that touched Simon's lips. 

"So how's Sandburg?" 

Again, Jim shrugged, trying to puzzle out exactly what the captain's smile meant. "He's recovering, sir," he said, schooling his expression carefully. "I don't think I'll have to worry about him cooking any of his wild concoctions any time soon." 

"No," Simon returned with a grin. "But he's going to have to put up with your cooking for a while, isn't he?" 

"Hey! My cooking's pretty good," Jim defended, mock serious. 

"Jim, even your *wife* learned to cook--just to defend herself." 

Simon went on into a discussion of Jim's latest case, but the detective's mind kept harping on the captain's choice of words. "Wife" and "Sandburg" in the same discussion set off bells in his mind. Did Simon know, too? He thought he'd been careful about showing his feelings during the poker game last week... 

But then Blair had had another of his spasms, and every other thought had gone out the window as Jim tried to ease his Guide's pain. 

Was he really that transparent? he wondered, a small knot of worry starting to grow in his gut. What were people going to think when Sandburg came back to work? They'd treat him differently--they'd treat *Jim* differently, too. 

Maybe they'd already begun to. 

"Ellison?" 

Jim startled in response to the call, and he looked up into Simon's annoyed face. "Sorry?" 

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you, Jim?" 

He wanted to deny it, but his body betrayed him and he sighed in apology. 

Simon leaned forward worriedly. "Are you sure Sandburg's all right? That kind of wound is nothing to take lightly, Jim. I can hand this assignment off to someone else, if you want to go home, you know? Take an extra week. If Sandburg's not well enough yet to be left alone--" 

Jim rose nervously. They *were* starting already. Like John Hilson when his wife had had that miscarriage. "Take as much time as you need, John. She's your wife. That's more important than work, you know?" 

No. Jim wouldn't let them do this. He didn't want things to change at work just because they'd changed at home. 

But the two were inseparable... He sighed again. 

"No, sir," he said finally. "That's okay. He's fine." 

Simon still seemed worried. "You sure? This case is going to require a few nights' surveillance..." 

Nights I should be home in bed with my partner, right, sir? Jim thought angrily. "It's okay," he repeated. "If he needs someone to stay with him, I'm sure he's got plenty of co-eds who'd volunteer." 

Simon puzzled at the detective's tone. Was Jim this worried about the kid? Sandburg had gotten under everyone's skin, and they'd all called in at one point or another in the last week to make sure he was doing okay. But Jim had a history of being fiercely protective of the men he worked with. Jack, Danny... And with Sandburg it was even worse, since the kid wasn't even on the force... 

He was about to say something when he saw the look on Jim's face. That was it. The kid was giving Jim a hard time about being a mother hen. He'd probably all but thrown the detective out today, glad to get some time by himself--probably to spend it whiling away the hours with one of his many girlfriends. 

Simon bit his tongue--as much to keep from laughing at the situation as to keep himself from pissing his detective off--and handed Jim the file. "You're probably right, Jim," he answered easily, gesturing for the Sentinel to retake his seat. "Now, if I could have your *attention*, we'll go over this again..."  
  


* * *

Blair sat carefully on the floor in his room. He hadn't seen it since he got home, except to glance in briefly on his way to the bathroom, and he was amazed at how neat and tidy it looked. His books had been replaced on the bookshelf in the corner, and his notes and other possessions had been stacked in neat boxes, lined up on the floor beside his bed. 

Time to get to work, he sighed. If he was going to remain cooped up in the loft, he might as well get something accomplished... 

The notes were pretty easy to clean up. He'd adopted his one anal trait in undergrad--labeling each page with the subject matter covered on it--so it was simple to just dump similar notes in the same piles. 

That took only a couple of hours, and he sat there resting for a moment, not wanting to sort out the really painful stuff... He knew the next four boxes would be filled to the brim with shards of his travels. If what Joel told him was true, not one of them would be intact... 

He took a deep, centering breath, opening the first box... 

That was the last real breath he took for a while.  
  


* * *

Jim finally got hold of Killian Phelan in Vice. Killian had been working on the case that Simon had turned over to him, back when they thought it was just a penny ante drug ring. Now that it looked like the big boys were in on it, the Mayor had been breathing down the commissioner's neck to get Major Crimes involved. 

The two detectives set up a meet in the park by Jim's loft for that evening. Killian was still undercover, and Jim had a feeling that they'd need him to stay there until they got a better handle on all the players involved. 

That finished, Jim realized he couldn't do anymore on the case until he'd *talked* to Kill. He'd taken home all his paperwork on his previous cases, to work on while Blair was recuperating, and he now found himself sitting at his desk, at two-thirty in the afternoon, with absolutely nothing to do. 

He could go home, see if Sandburg had found the presents he'd left for him... But that would look too much like he was running home to look after his lover. How had the guys figured it out so quickly? He didn't normally broadcast his feelings that badly, did he? Was it the flush of finally realizing what his Guide meant to him that was doing this? 

Damn! Having a male/male relationship wasn't necessarily the end of a cop's career, right? What about Al Yelle over in Vice? Everybody knew *he* was... gay... and it hadn't stopped him from being promoted three times in the past two years. 

Jim looked around the bullpen, seeing the occasional head bounce up to meet his eyes. They were all smiling. Like they knew something... 

He was jolted from his increasingly paranoid thoughts by a beefy hand on his shoulder. 

"Hey, Ellison." Joel Taggart smiled down at him, and Jim tried not to look guilty. "How's Blair?" 

"He's fine," Jim replied tightly, causing Joel to shoot him a curious look. 

"Driving you crazy, huh?" Joel surmised. "He's probably been bitching at you since he got home from the hospital." 

Jim tried to smile easily. "It hasn't been that bad, actually." 

"But you're glad to be back at work, right?" 

Jim heard a leering quality that wasn't there. He heard an innuendo that was never made. And it was too much for him suddenly--he had to get out. 

"Yeah," he replied, sounding more normal than he felt. "Unfortunately, now I actually need to *get* working." He met Joel's eyes briefly, hoping he didn't give away too much. "I'll see you later, Joel." 

Joel Taggart watched him go, walking over to stand next to Simon, who had overheard the whole exchange. "What's up with him?" Joel asked curiously. 

Simon shook his head. He had no idea, and Jim's behavior was starting to worry him. His answer was flippant, but he told himself to keep an eye on his favorite detective. "I don't know, Joel. *You* try being cooped up with Sandburg for a week and tell me how *you* feel."  
  


* * *

Blair set the last of the fetishes on his bookshelf. They weren't his--at least, not the ones he'd had when he was kidnapped two weeks ago. The fact that they were there at all was a testament to his growing certainty about his Sentinel's feelings for him. 

He'd nearly fainted when he opened that first box, expecting to find a jumble of useless bits, and found three perfect Mayan statuettes. 

They were fakes--well, two of them were, anyway--but they were perfect reproductions of the ones he'd had. He had no idea how Jim had managed to acquire them, but the fact that he had made Blair feel distinctly warm. 

Jim loved him. It was a simple statement, but it meant the world to him. He'd spent so long denying the possibility, but when he'd heard Jim's voice in that laboratory that Formby had set up, all the pieces had fallen into place. 

"Not her... I *have* a Guide." 

Blair smiled at the bittersweet memory and turned to the last box of artifacts, sighing lightly at its single tenant. 

It was an old picture of Naomi--he'd had it since he left for college at 16\. She'd just gotten back from a seminar in Florida at the time, and she'd shyly given him this picture of her, so he wouldn't miss her too much. 

It was ripped slightly in the corner, and there was a scar running down the side that hinted at a broken frame that should have surrounded it. But the frame was the same one he'd had it in for years; a simple walnut frame with a small African mask in the corner. 

He turned it over idly, and almost missed the small silver plaque at the bottom. The words engraved there almost set him to tears: 

"To my Guide. Love, J."  
  


* * *

Jim had spent a hour driving around before he ended up at the waterfront. It wasn't quiet here, but the sounds of stevedores and tankers and forklifts helped him drown out all but the loudest of worries in his mind. 

He looked back over the day carefully, searching for all the oddities he could find. To his surprise, there were none, and that realization made his heart sink. 

He was being paranoid. Nobody was talking about him--he'd certainly have heard it if they were--nobody was looking at him differently. His own twisted imagination had had him spending the day monitoring his own behavior! 

This should be so easy, he thought sadly. Blair is... the world to me. It should be so simple to just be upfront with him, be upfront with the world, and let the relationship progress the way he knew he wanted it to. 

His father had taught him a lot of things--not all of them good. One of those things was that a man was a man. Don't be a sissy, don't be a fag... Be strong and hard and distant. Maybe he hadn't said it all in so many words, but actions spoke louder, anyway... 

Jim sat back on the bumper of his truck, staring out into the bay longingly. He wanted this to work. He wanted Blair to know that he was what really mattered in his life. But he wasn't stupid, and he wasn't oblivious to his own strengths and weaknesses. He cared what other people thought of him--it didn't always show, but he did. And he didn't want the guys at the station to think any differently of him simply because he and Blair were... 

But they would. Which meant that he couldn't let them know. Which meant that Blair would never really know. Not really. Blair would never know that Jim loved him enough to let the whole world know it, and damn the consequences. 

He wouldn't know, because Jim was too weak to do that. 

Could he live with the results if he told Blair that he couldn't do this? The kid would leave him, he was sure. Blair didn't have the same hang ups Jim did. As strange as it had been for the anthropologist in the beginning, Jim could see the change in him since he'd returned from the hospital. If he hadn't had a hole in his stomach, Blair would happily have spent the last week doing more than just *sleeping* in Jim's bed. 

And Jim wanted that. God... To be able to show Blair *exactly* how much he loved him... 

But was that fair? Was it fair to keep their relationship a secret? Sandburg had had a million different girlfriends, and he'd always been able to show them off, and be shown off by them. But Jim just couldn't do that. He wanted to, but he just couldn't. 

He'd have to come clean. If Blair left... He snorted to himself. If Blair left, there was always his service revolver-- But he had to tell the kid the truth. If he really loved Blair as much as he said he did, the kid deserved to know just how weak Jim really was. 

He turned back toward the station with a pain in his gut, determined to stick out the rest of the day and then go home to whatever argument was likely to ensue.  
  


* * *

Blair looked at the clock one more time. Jim should be home soon. He had a pot of homemade Minestrone simmering on the stove--glad that he and Molly had stayed close friends when their relationship broke up. She'd happily dropped by a few hours ago, handing him a bag full of groceries as she claimed her payment with a kiss. She'd had a mischievous look in her eyes, and Blair had suddenly figured out how Jim had gotten all those knickknacks. 

"He was so cute, Blair," she said with a smile. "He thought you'd be so devastated when you found out they were all gone. Lucky he called me when he did--it took almost a week for me to track down some of those African pieces." She'd cast him an appraising glance that left his cheeks red. "He really cares about you, you know?" 

His shyly beaming face was all the confirmation she needed for her growing hunch. "I know." 

He stirred the soup once more, before turning back to the living room. Everything was spotless--just the way Jim liked it--and the two wine glasses that dominated the table by the couch were all Blair hoped he'd need to dictate the mood of the evening. 

Now, he just had to have a partner to share it with...  
  


* * *

Jim parked his car beneath their building, pulling himself wearily toward the stairwell door. 

The weight in his stomach had grown steadily all day, and he was about ready to burst from the pain of it. He remembered telling Blair once that truth was important in a relationship. 

He'd never thought to have to eat his own words. 

He smelled something delicious wafting from their apartment, and knew it was too much to hope for that Blair might be asleep already. The scent carried Sandburg's secret recipe for Minestrone soup, and that recipe took a long time to cook. Maybe, if he was very lucky, Blair had exhausted himself in the process, and wouldn't be up for much discussion. 

His own cowardice made him angry, and he felt like hitting the door instead of unlocking it. The atmosphere in the loft gave him pause, however, and his anger at himself took a back seat to his wonder at his Guide. 

Blair had obviously spent the day cleaning. The place was spotless--even the magazines that usually littered the living room table were put away in the rack. All that stood there now were a single candle and two wine glasses. 

"Blair?" he called out, a little off balance. He'd expected to come home to a fight, not to a seduction. 

The younger man came out of his room, wearing a loose black pair of pants and that green silk shirt that Jim thought made him look so sexy. He was still shuffling slightly, but his smile made up for any awkwardness of his gait. 

"Hi." One simple word. It seemed all that Blair was going to say, so Jim just smiled bemusedly as Sandburg led him to the couch. He was startled when Blair spoke again, making his way to the kitchen once Jim was settled. 

"Soup still had to simmer for a while, so I thought we'd have something to drink first." He walked back, a bottle of what looked like champagne in his hand. As he popped the cork, Jim realized with a smile that it was sparkling cider. 

"Not trying to get me drunk, I see," he quipped gently. 

Blair's face was a study in innocence. "Would I do that?" 

"Not when your doctor's forbidden you to get drunk yourself, no." 

They sipped quietly at their drinks for a moment, Blair taking the opportunity to snuggle in deeper to Jim's chest. For the moment, Jim wasn't thinking about anything but the soft smell of his Guide's shampoo and the hard lines of his body. 

"I finally got a chance to clean up my bedroom," Blair whispered, a touch of humour in his voice. "You'll never guess what I found." 

"What?" Jim asked, more than willing to play along with the little game. 

"They managed not to break anything," Blair returned, turning slightly, so that he could capture Jim's mouth with his own. "But two of my Mayan statues are fakes. Wonder why I never noticed." 

Jim smiled into the kiss. "That's horrible, Chief," his whispered. "What are you going to do about that?" 

Blair slid farther up into his Sentinel's arms, thoroughly ravishing the man's mouth before he answered. "I'm going to thank the man who got them for me." 

Jim surrendered himself to Blair's intense plundering, marveling at the taste of arousal that he sensed. He pushed away that part of his mind that said he should stop this right now. It wasn't fair to let Blair do this for him, when he couldn't give the kid anything in return. 

It didn't matter, he realized suddenly, the shock of it nearly taking his breath away. It didn't matter how weak he thought he was, he loved this man, and he was going to make sure he stayed with him. 

"Blair," he whispered, when the dynamo beside him finally came up for air. "I have a meeting tonight. With an undercover agent." 

Blair pulled back, his eyes flashing with irritation. "When?" 

"Twelve-thirty," Jim admitted meekly, wondering if the festivities would suddenly be over before they even began. 

But Blair just gave him a randy smile and went back to his attack on his mouth. "Plenty of time," he whispered, a touch of humour in his voice. "I don't have the stamina I used to." 

Jim laughed, feeling the strength of it rumble through his partner. Blair gave him one last, long kiss, and rolled to his feet. "Come on, Big Guy," he announced, taking Jim's hand in his. "We'd better eat before the noodles get soggy."  
  


* * *

Blair seemed to be working his way up to something, Jim decided with a smile, as his partner moved those amazing lips of his down to Jim's chest. They'd eaten their dinner slowly, Blair dragging the meal out as he pretended to slowly consume his soup. With dinner done, he'd led Jim up to the bedroom, stripped him, and proceeded to explore each and every nook and cranny of his body. 

All except the one that was getting far too hard for Jim's comfort. 

"You know, Chief," he said, gasping through the words as Blair went to work on his nipples. "I do have to be somewhere tonight." 

Blair grinned, the movement of his lips as his head slid down Jim's stomach causing the Sentinel to remember just exactly how exquisitely painful sex could be. Jim felt the force of Blair's sigh as he reached his hands down to thread them into the younger man's curls. 

"Patience, patience, Jim," Blair whispered. "Remember, I've waited as long as you have for this." 

"Yeah," Jim gasped again. "But you're the one getting to have all the fun here." It was a lie, of course, but he hoped his Guide knew what he meant. He hadn't stopped Blair from taking the lead here, but he was wishing that he could give his partner just a taste of the hot pleasure he was feeling himself. 

The removal of Blair's lips from his torso nearly shocked Jim into a heart attack. To remove this kind of sensory experience from him so quickly was downright *dangerous*, and he breathed heavily as he saw those lips frown. "You're not having any fun?" Blair sat back, the look on his face saying that he was disappointed, while the bulge in his boxers shouted that he was anything *but*. "Well, then, why am I bothering?" 

Jim sat up, scooting toward the end of the bed to take Blair in his arms. Dangling his feet off the mattress, he lay back, moving the younger man to lay atop him. "Because," Jim explained patiently, kissing his way down Blair's face. "You love me." 

A light went off in Blair's eyes that was absolutely comical. "I do, huh?" He smiled like a vixen, sliding down carefully to resume his exploration of Jim's stomach, his knees touching the floor lightly as he settled in. "Well, okay, then." 

It took almost an hour for Blair's mouth to get from Jim's lips to his cock, the younger man's fingers floating teasingly into his crotch from time to time, enough stroking to keep him hard, but infrequent enough to keep him from coming. 

It was an hour of the most enjoyable pain Jim had ever experienced. He held himself firm, desperately wanting to hurry this whole torture session along, but knowing that he'd be sorry if he did. He had a feeling about Blair. As inexperienced as they both admitted to being with this, Blair was a natural. 

The Sentinel and his Guide hissed at the same moment--one in pleasure, the other in pain. Jim heard the slight uptake in Blair's heartbeat, and looked down at him, Blair's head nestled comfortably in Jim's crotch as the younger man kneeled on the floor. "Chief?" Jim asked worriedly. 

Blair glared at him in a way Jim had never seen before. It was something so animalistic that he surprised himself by getting even harder. 

"Don't *you* *dare*," Blair growled, sliding down just enough that the tip of Jim's cock could feel the vibration as his words came out. "I've been saving my strength for this, and if you worry yourself into stopping now, it'll be a long time before you have the chance again." 

Jim shivered at the desire in his Guide's voice. That Blair wanted this so much made the Sentinel a little scared. Was this the same man who had put his hand through a window two weeks before, in denial of his love for his partner? 

He wanted to think something else--he was *sure* he'd had another thought he wanted to follow--but all pretense at it fell away as Blair's warm, delicate tongue slipped out to lick the bitter precum off of the tip of Jim's erection. 

Blair thrilled to the groan his Sentinel let out as he swirled his tongue gently along his shaft. God, Jim was larger than Blair might have guessed. Of course, he told himself, melting slightly as Jim gasped at the movement of his grinning lips against his cock, he hadn't really ever wanted to give that as much thought as he did now. 

His tongue slipped lightly down the length of Jim's penis, darting out quickly as he reached its root. He smiled again as he caught the sudden movement of his partner's hips coming off the bed. "Primed and ready," he whispered teasingly into Jim's balls, before running his tongue back up to the throbbing tip. 

Oh, he was going to hurt himself, here. His stomach still ached vaguely, and all this exercise...? He knew it, and he couldn't have cared less. Pain was part of life, Jim had said. He'd also said that it shouldn't be self-inflicted, but Blair had a feeling that that wasn't always true. 

"Oh, *God*, Blair!" Jim hissed as Blair slipped his cock slowly into his mouth. Jesus! His hands came down again to take hold of Blair's head, fingers twining into the thick brown curls, adding yet another dimension to the sensory overload that he was sure would kill him if it went on much longer. 

Wait. Wait. Hold it off for as long as you can. Be careful. You don't want to hurt him-- 

God!!! Teeth scratched gently up his cock, barely touching the sensitive skin, as Jim's hips started a rhythm they couldn't stop if they tried. Don't hurt him, he whispered to himself, ignoring the pain that *Blair* was causing *him*. He's still healing don't-- 

"Blair!!" 

Blair smiled in pain as Jim came, hot spurts of bitter liquid burning on their way down. He laughed gently around the organ in his mouth as he realized what he was doing, feeling it shudder in response. 

Jim's shout was quieter than Blair expected it to be, and, for some reason, that irked him. He could still feel the rock-hard desire in his partner's shaft, and reached up a hand to fondle the Sentinel's balls, running his teeth delicately up and down Jim's shaft in an insistent rhythm, barely touching the skin that could probably have felt him from a mile away. 

He kept up the rhythm for minutes that seemed like hours, waiting for his lover to recover himself enough for another go, and as Jim shuddered once more, not quite ready to come again, Blair eased his lover out of his mouth, speaking against his still-engorged tip. 

"What, Jim?" 

Jim's head shot up in surprise. God! This kid was going to kill him! Never, in his life--not with Mak'laya, not with Carolyn, not with *anybody*--had he felt this kind of hunger. And the kid was *teasing* him! 

"Blair, please," he pleaded, not wanting to, but knowing that it was what was called for. "Please, please, *please*!" 

His senses were more than hyperactive now, and he felt himself shudder again as Blair smiled evilly against his tip. He felt the words his lover spoke, but the rush of blood in his ears didn't let him hear them. 

"Okay," Blair whispered, holding in the growing pain in his gut, as his free hand slipped into his own boxers, his knees balancing on the ground as his head lay between Jim's legs. "I just wanted to make sure you were having fun." 

Blair knew he shouldn't be doing this--he was going to pop his stitches, at this rate. But he couldn't stop. He felt Jim's hips begin to rise and fall again, and caught their rhythm easily, the hand he had placed on his own cock pumping in a mad counterpoint to them. 

The pain of each hard thrust--from his lover *and* himself--shot through Blair with a clear joy that he'd never experienced before. Oh, God! How could he have thought that this wasn't what they needed? How could he possibly have thought that this was the wrong thing--for *either* of them! 

He switched to his lips now, allowing Jim to thrust into his mouth unimpeded, all teasing forgotten as his own hunger grew. He could feel his own thrusts moving into synch with Jim's now, and felt an exquisite double shudder as they came together, the warm liquid rolling softly down his hand matching the fountain that trailed down his throat. 

This time, Jim's shout was more than enough to satisfy him, as he slid, exhausted, to the floor. 

He felt Jim's warm hands lifting him back onto the bed, and curled into sleep with his Sentinel at his back.  
  


* * *

Jim slipped away from his sleeping lover, as he watched the clock turn from 12:15 to 12:16. Time to meet Phelan. God, he didn't want to leave. His nose was still enraptured with the scent of their lovemaking, and it left his other senses wanting more. 

But Blair would still be sleeping when he came back. He'd worn himself out, Jim thought with a smile, leaning over to kiss his lover's cheek lightly. Hell, he added, feeling his own stiffness as he headed downstairs to clean up, he's worn us *both* out!  
  


* * *

The meeting had been all Jim had hoped, and he walked quietly up the stairs toward the loft, certain that he could start the case tomorrow with the information he'd received. He slipped inside quietly, dropping his jacket onto its hook before pulling off his shoes and padding lightly up to the bedroom. 

He smiled at the thought. Funny how this had become "the" bedroom in the past few weeks. He wondered what they should do with Blair's bed now. He could turn the room downstairs into an office, but he probably wouldn't want that thing down there, as well. 

They'd move it when Blair was stronger. Ridding themselves of the second bed would be a sign of the fact that they would always be together. 

He smiled sleepily, curling himself carefully around his lover. 

Blair woke with the movement of arms around his waist, blinking confusedly. Surely it wasn't morning already, was it? He suddenly recognized the pain in his stomach, and couldn't keep from giving out a low groan, as the fire slowly built. 

"Chief?" The voice was soft, and slightly worried. 

"Oh, man," Blair whispered, gritting his teeth against another sharp wave of pain. "I knew I'd pay for that." 

He felt Jim jump off the bed angrily, and looked up at him, surprised. "Jim, come on, man. I'm fine." He smiled wryly, as the spasms finally began to abate. "I'll just be a little sore for a few days." 

But Jim was on a tear, and Blair knew there was nothing he could do to stop him. 

"Damnit! Why did I let you get into this tonight?" Jim was asking. "You're not strong enough yet to even get down the stairs without gripping the railing like your life depended on it. Much less--" 

"Much less what?" Blair asked, his own anger rising. "Much less making love to my Sentinel?" 

Jim glared at him for his choice of words. 

"Blair, you're going to hurt yourself here! You *have* hurt yourself!" 

Blair sat up carefully, an absent hand going to his stomach. "And I'd do it again, Jim." He pulled his other hand through hopelessly tangled locks. "Damnit, I know I wasn't the world's most understanding person when this started, but we've gone through so much since then." He reached out, capturing Jim's hand carefully. "Don't you know that I love you?" 

Jim sat on the bed heavily, grimacing immediately as Blair hissed. He understood too well. Blair loved him, and he knew--as he had known before coming home this evening--that he couldn't love Blair back the way he needed it. He couldn't tell the world that he loved him, couldn't take him out and show him off. 

He was feeling his weakness again as Blair scooted forward, laying his head on his shoulder. 

"Jim," Blair asked quietly, making Jim's eyes close with his concern. "What's wrong? You seemed so... okay with this." 

Jim's snort pushed through both of them. "That was before I went to work." 

The pieces fell into place for Blair and he rubbed a hand up and down Jim's arm comfortingly. "And now you're afraid. Because you can't be a cop *and* have a male lover, right?" 

Jim turned to him, taking both of his partner's hands in his. "Blair..." God, how did he explain this? "I... Things change when people know too much about your personal life." 

Blair smiled gently. "Jim, who would have to know?" 

"You're okay with that?" Jim asked, shocked by his partner's simple statement. "I'd have thought..." 

Blair smirked. "You'd have thought I would want you to walk in the gay pride parade with me?" He laughed out loud, wincing at the renewed pain in his stomach. "Jim, it's not like I've ever had a male lover before," he explained, leaning toward his Sentinel's chest to let Jim enfold him in his arms. "And I'll never have another after you. If the only thing you're worried about is what *I* think, then relax." He reached up to kiss his lover. "I don't care what happens at work, as long as you're here for me at *home*." 

Jim sat there silently for a long moment. Blair was too much, he mused, dropping a light kiss on Sandburg's heavy curls. He was so much more than anyone had ever deserved. 

And he was *Jim's*. Jim's partner... his lover... 

His Guide.  
  


* * *

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